


Right Where It Belongs

by hikari_datenshi (Salamander)



Category: British Comedian RPF
Genre: M/M, tie!sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-28
Updated: 2010-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salamander/pseuds/hikari_datenshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Haven't you ever seen someone take a tie off before?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sanctified

**Author's Note:**

> Long time in the writing, this basically came about during comments around the delicious subject area of Charlie wearing a suit and tie, and David being fixated with him as he takes off the tie. Basically, I wanted kinky tie!sex. So I wrote some kinky tie!sex! Thanks to the totally awesome [info]purplejulie95 for the marvellously detailed and delicious betaing &lt;3

1\. Sanctified

Charlie stood outside Pinewood, hands stuffed into the pockets of his scruffy black trenchcoat, desperately trying to huddle some sort of warmth into himself. It was failing, which wasn't a surprise, considering that it was almost the middle of winter, and the weather only made him curse taxis all the more. When you wanted one, none turned up, but when you didn't want one, fifty went past all at once, wanking at you out of the window as they passed.

He was jerked out of his reverie of misery by a polite cough, and a tap on his shoulder. David smiled at him, and Charlie smiled back, nodding his head at the road. "Fucking taxis, I've been waiting here for five minutes already."

"I have this modern contraption called a 'mobile phone', on which I can call for a taxi, should I ever need one." David got his phone out of his own coat pocket and waved it around. "Um, are you going my way?" He gesticulated down the road, and Charlie nodded. "Where shall I call it for?"

"How about a drink? I know, uh, a place." Charlie winced. "Which isn't, you know, as seedy as it sounds. It's not an underground sex den or anything. I mean, if you've got something planned, I don't mind. You know."

"I... no, nothing in particular."

"Are you sure? You sort of sounded like you wanted to get home. I mean, it's late and all that," Charlie looked vaguely at his watch. It wasn't really late, nine o'clock totally didn't count as late, right?

"It can't be past nine, surely?" David peered over at Charlie's wrist, his hair flopping over his eyes slightly as he bent to see the hands. "No, see? I didn't think it was. Er, are you sure you don't have anything better to do?"

"Not a thing. For once I'm not slaving under the whips of a deadline."

"Okay, well, if you're sure," David went to find the number, and then stopped. "Erm you didn't say where. Here," he held out the phone, "you call it, you know what it's called and all that."

The pub was called The Royal Oak, which was a sort of semi-respectable point between a trendy bar and one of those pubs that you wouldn't really want to be seen dead in. In fact, one of the latter was more likely to be a place where you'd be seen dead in, especially if you were Charlie and David, on account of the thugs and laggards that generally frequented such pubs taking offence to their faces or accents or something. A bar was automatically out anyway, because Charlie had a feeling that David hated loud music that you couldn't talk over. He called the number, ordered the taxi, and they shared a semi-comfortable silence until it arrived, when they got in. Charlie told the driver where they were going, and then sat back with a sigh of relief.

"About fucking time," he said, undoing his coat. His fingers went straight to his tie, almost as if they were drawn there by a magnet, and he worried at the knot before realising that David was watching him. "Haven't you ever seen someone take a tie off before?" He managed to fight the damned thing loose, and he slid it out from his collar and draped it across his lap.

"Er," David said, his mind clearly racing for something to say. "Not usually from, you know. This side." He waved a hand around vaguely. "Reflections. Um," His eyes were fixed on Charlie's fingers as he undid the top two buttons of his blue shirt. _Interesting_, Charlie thought, and he let his fingers linger slightly longer than they naturally would. The response from David was surprising, to say the least, as he leaned forward, suddenly, as if he were moving in for a kiss. His hand flew to Charlie's, almost pinning him to the door, and their lips were within seconds of touching when the taxi pulled up suddenly, the braking motion making David smack forehead first into Charlie's face.

"Ow, fuck," he said, and then pulled himself away as if he'd been burned. "Um. Oh shit."

"So, that drink then," Charlie said, loudly. He opened the door, and David followed him out clumsily. "And a healthy dose of never mentioning _that_ again, I reckon. How about you?"

David smiled, although he still looked uncomfortable. "Yes, I do think that could be for the best."

'That drink' turned out to be three pints apiece of some sort of wanky real ale, and Charlie's thoughts were somewhat hazy from the second one onwards. He had to admit though, looking at the world through a beer-tinted fugue wasn't the worst way to forget something uncomfortable. Their conversation meandered through various topics; television to politics, video games (which was mostly Charlie's side), mutual hatred of certain things (people who push in to queues, wanky real ale), coping in a zombie apocalypse (Charlie felt very confident about his ability to survive, David was less so) and the etiquette of breaking up with somebody (Charlie was a fan of ignoring problems until they went away, David was a fan of confronting problems until they went away, and they were both fans of not being dumped via answer-phone message).

At some point, one of them suggested that some kind of greasy food wouldn't go amiss, and then they were at David's flat, eating a cheeseburger each along with what was probably another two or three cans.

And then Charlie woke up, the sun streaming unbeckoned and unfettered through the wide-open curtains of what appeared to be a bedroom, and right into his face. He jerked upwards, startled to find himself on his back, and even more startled to find his tie wrapped around his wrists like a makeshift – _oh god, they didn't_. Did they? Fuck. Fuuuuck. The room was empty, apart from his extremely naked self, and Charlie smacked his head on the headboard for being a complete and utter twat. If they had had sex (and at the moment, all signs were pointing to 'hell yes'), he'd basically forgotten about it. Stupid drink, making him act like a sodding one night stand whore when he actually wanted something more. He pulled at the tie, and the knot slid undone a lot easier than it should have done, frankly, and if this wasn't something that they were _definitely never mentioning_, he would have personally seen to it that David got a lesson in how to tie a knot properly. He shook the feeling back into his hands, and winced a little at the pins and needles. Damned alcohol. The first time Charlie got sex in ages and he was too fucking pissed to remember it. It was fucking typical, really, and their whole _never mentioning this again_ thing suddenly seemed like a huge obstacle, right in the way of something he hadn't known he actually wanted until now.

When he'd got himself into a vague semblance of awakeness, or at least slightly-more-upright-ness, and found and donned his clothes, he wobbled into the kitchen to find a bowl of cereal set out, next to a glass bottle of milk, and a note that simply said "Never mentioning that again is a good tactic," with the 'never' underlined. He took up the pen that was parallel to the note, and scribbled "I agree" underneath. The fact that he might not agree hovered around his mind like a guilty culprit, and he ignored it in the hope that it would go away. He didn't want to have the awkward conversation where they both decide they're totally not gay and that they'll go their separate ways with no more encounters ever. Charlie wasn't quite certain _what_ he wanted to happen, but the idea of never having another encounter with David _did_ fill him with a sort of dread that he wasn't ready to confront just yet. They were manly men, probably, and manly men did _not_ confront their gay experiences or the 'touchy-feely' feelings part afterwards. They ignored them, and regretted them, and generally tried to forget about them. Charlie didn't want David to regret it, whatever 'it' was between them – they'd genuinely had a laugh in the pub, and if his soreness was anything to go by, they'd genuinely had a good time in bed, too.

The note stared at him, and Charlie stared morosely back. Why was there such stigma attached to the whole gay thing anyway? There was an orgasm involved, and love, and that could never be a bad thing, surely. His single problem was that whole emotional attachment thing he had going on. It was the biggest reason (second only to awkward morning conversation) that he tended to stay away from one-night stands. He underlined his "I agree" twice in the hope that it would persuade his brain into thinking it was true, and then decided to pass on the cereal in favour of getting the walk of shame over with as quickly as possible.


	2. Closer

The "are you going the same way" conversation was eerily deja vu-like, and it didn't do much to stop Charlie thinking about That Which Must Never Be Spoken Of. The thing he couldn't get straight in his mind was the whole almost-snog in the taxi. Of course, he had no frame of reference for it – David had never tried to snog him in a taxi again, and in fact, they'd not so much as shared an anecdote, let alone a taxi, since, which the rational part of Charlie's brain was vaguely glad about, but the irrational, emotional side was regretting. And there was that fucking emotion again – regret – damn it to hell and back. He wasn't supposed to be regretting! He was supposed to be bragging about how many chicks he'd supposedly banged since (the fact that he'd not 'banged' any 'chicks' wasn't meant to factor into it, and neither was the fact that he'd spent more than a few nights wanking over fuzzy memories of David's hands and his lips and his tongue).

Taking his tie off in the taxi, well, it had always been his thing – he wasn't keen on shirts buttoned all the way to the top, but such dress codes were expected for important awards – only now it also came with the added tantalising fact that David, well, he certainly seemed to like the tie thing. Charlie would also hazard a guess that David's memories were as hazy as his, vis à vis That Which Must Never Be Spoken Of, but also that there was something there in the back of his mind, because the way David was shifting in his seat and pointedly looking out of the window, well, that was pretty telling, really. And the rules said that he couldn't even let him know when he was finished, because that would mean acknowledging the reason David was looking away to begin with, and oh fuck, it was a mess. Charlie wondered whether the incident would ruin their drink, but when David cleared his throat and turned towards him with the obvious intention of pushing past the thing and into the normal bounds of conversation, he realised with relief that things weren't going to be awkward. At least, not for the entire time.

"So I was given some uh, whiskey. As a present, you know. I've not had any of it yet, we could test it out?" David looked nervous. _Just how much did he remember about last time?_ Clearly enough to make him nervous.

"Alright then. But no ale at the pub this time, if we're gonna be having whiskey at yours, I want to stick with whiskey the whole time..." he left the statement open-ended. Maybe they'd be having whiskey at David's, maybe they wouldn't. No pressure. He carefully didn't mention that he didn't want to be hammered to the point of memory loss. That would be perilously close to uncomfortable subjects. Perilously close to completely fucking things up forever. _Oh what_, Charlie berated himself, _they didn't even have things to fuck up_. Not yet anyway. A delicious shiver of anticipation ran up his spine. God, he wanted there to be Things. Things would be amazing. Things would be... well, they'd just be brilliant. And dangerous thoughts about Things needed to be quelled _right now_, before he got an untimely hard on.

"Yes, that's a very good point." The taxi pulled up at The Royal Oak, and they got out and went in. "Just the one whiskey, then?"

"Yup. Although we'll be regretting that idea if this gift whiskey's shit. But then again, we could always just drink it anyway. I mean, it can't be much worse than dishwater."

David looked doubtful. "You never know. It might be a death threat. Oh wait, no, it couldn't be a death threat, could it? Urm, attempt on my life? Yeah."

"They'd definitely get more than they bargained for then, if that's the case. I bet people who threaten death on a regular basis have never encountered you in one of your ranting modes. They wouldn't know what'd hit them!" _No, stop talking about him, he might think you're obsessed or something. Change the subject!_ "Uh, I have no idea about whiskey, you order this lot."

They sat down with their drinks, which were on the rocks. The rocks didn't so much improve the taste as water it down slightly. Not that whiskey was Charlie's favourite drink to begin with, but it wasn't as bad as drinking cheap wine, which was definitely something to avoid. He'd had far too many late nights with cheap wine followed by late mornings with hangovers, and yet, on occasion, cheap wine was a perfect compliment to a bleak mood. Of course, the guilt and general feelings of disgust in the morning weren't amazing, but hey, everything had a price.

There was quiet music playing in the background, but it was of that acceptable volume, more like white noise than actual music. Their topic turned to thoughts on music when Charlie pointed out the jukebox. Charlie wasn't one of those ridiculous music snobs who would flounce out of a room the moment a song he didn't like came on, which was lucky, really, considering that the jukebox's selection was on the definite shit side. He slotted in a twenty pence, chose the least offensive song he could find, and then sat back down at the table as the strains of Phil Collins filled their ears. Charlie smirked at David's reaction, and sipped at his whiskey.

"I see you paid attention to my immense CD collection," David commented.

"Yeah, well, it's hard not to pay attention to them when they're sat all alone on a shelf. I did notice that they were alphabetised, and I'll be honest, it took a lot of self-control to not rearrange them."

"In all fairness, rearranging two CDs wouldn't have too much of an effect."

"Well no, exactly. That's what I thought. No fun in that, is there? The whole point of rearranging alphabetised stuff is, you know, to make sure it's _really annoying_ to put them all back again."

"You are evil incarnate, aren't you?"

"You like it," Charlie smirked, and tossed back the last of his drink. David's eyes had dropped to his glass, which he was examining like he'd find the mysteries of Atlantis hidden within it. He was blushing slightly, although that could have been the heat of the pub, which was gradually filling up around them. Charlie berated himself for reading too deeply into something that definitely didn't mean anything, and set his attention to pondering the benefits of ordering a second round, but David interrupted his thoughts by standing up and hooking his coat off the back of his chair. "Shall we get going, then? That whiskey won't drink itself, you know."

No second round, but onto another bottle at David's house and Charlie was wondering just how much he could hold back from the drinking. He didn't intend to get hammered again, just in case... well, you never knew, did you? The almost-snog could have meant more than he knew, although god knows he'd tried hard enough to not go down that path of thoughts in the past few months. No, better to see what happened, rather than trying to second-guess and force an outcome that wasn't natural. No romance in that. _Fuck, romance? Really? As if David would ever want romance with you_, he chastised himself viciously. _No, there's no chance of that. Not now, not ever_. He pulled on his coat once more. He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, and felt his tie screwed up in the left one. He clenched his fist around it – somehow it made him feel bolder, or at least, slightly less like a teenager trying to get his date drunk. That image didn't work, though, considering that it was David's whiskey and his idea to go and drink it all. Maybe David was the one seducing him. Now that was an interesting thought. Charlie decided that maybe he wouldn't feel so bad about David seducing _him_. Those funny flippy stomach feelings agreed with him, and his head went a little spinny at the thought.

The outside air was a cold slap against Charlie's exposed skin, and he was glad when the taxi came around the corner and they could both climb in. It was another ride of mild social discomfort, only this time is was slightly lubricated by the whiskey, and they chatted about anything other than what they'd almost done in a taxi once before.

It wasn't far to David's flat, and the whiskey wasn't far from the sofa, where Charlie was currently sat, shuffling his feet rather nervously. Some more alcohol would certainly be welcome, and that was a stone cold fact. When David handed him a larger-than-expected glass of the free whiskey, he took it gratefully, and drank a longer swig than he meant to. He coughed as it ran a trail of fire down his throat, and then enjoyed the slow burn in his chest afterwards.

He watched as David sniffed the glass appreciatively, and then took a sip. "That's not so bad," he said, taking another. "For a freebie."

"I'm not exactly a whiskey connoisseur, but I kinda like it." Charlie picked up the bottle and squinted at the label. "Fucking hell, it's fifty five percent, David. They _are_ trying to kill you!"

"It's whiskey, Charlie, you're not meant to drink the whole bottle at once, you know."

"Well yes, obviously. Hey," he said, as David topped up his glass, "are you trying to get me pissed up?" He looked mock-suspicious at David, who sat down heavily on the sofa, a conflicted look on his face.

"Um. No? Well, I mean, maybe. This is nice whiskey. If you want to go home, you can do. Er, don't let me keep you." He was faffing with his glass again, and Charlie smiled at that. It was oddly endearing, the way he twisted it round and back again.

And then it was the morning again, and Charlie's situation was awfully similar to the last time he'd woken up in David's flat. Only this time, his left hand was tied much more firmly to the bedpost, and his right was free. He stuttered upright, and fumbled at the knot blearily. _Fucking whiskey. Fucking bastarding fifty five percent whiskey_. The whole situation was made so much worse by the fact that Charlie knew they'd had an awesome time, this time, but there was still the fucking pact. _Fuck the pact_, he thought, as he freed himself from the knot. _Fuck the pact and the horse it rode in on_. If David could manage to sit through two nights out with Charlie, and hell, if he could manage to have sex with him and not baulk at the thought of seeing his face so up close and personal, perhaps they'd have a chance at something more. Or perhaps they'd have a chance at being awkward curmudgeons who grated on each others' nerves until they finally crashed and burned in a low-key media shitstorm about the perils of shagging caustic television critics.

Charlie pulled his clothes on slowly, reluctant to leave David's bedroom, where it smelled of sex and whiskey, and that really nice smell he always associated with David. Something between deodorant and clean skin, tangled with those pheromones that made his heart do somersaults whenever David came too close.

He found the kitchen much the same as it had been last time, and he sat down heavily at the table. There was no note, just an over-full bowl of fruit and fibre and a glass bottle of milk, red-topped, set at an angle that made it appear to be orbiting the bowl. Charlie smiled as he put the milk back in the fridge. He found his coat, stuffed his tie into the left pocket, and made sure that the door was on the latch before he left. The Never Mentioning This Again pact hung in the air like the smell of roadkill, and the fact that David hadn't even felt the need to leave him a note this time made Charlie feel irreparably sad. His hands pushed deeper into pockets, and he hunched into himself as he faced the wind, squinting against the unwelcome warmth and light of the sun. _Fuck relationships_, he thought.


	3. Discipline

3\. Discipline

They skipped the "are you going the same way as me?" conversation for the first time since they'd started getting cabs together. In all fairness, they generally weren't going the same way at all, unless 'the pub for a drink' was classed as 'the same way', and it was sort of an unspoken assumption that they'd end up at someone's flat afterwards either way.

"Fucking hell, I cannot wait to get out of this suit," Charlie groaned, tugging at the too-tight shirt collar. He cursed taxis for being too small to actually get changed in, and then smirked at the idea of actually stripping off in one. Not as if people hadn't done worse in the back of taxis – he could probably think of a dozen stories of couples fucking and druggies doing lines of coke and whatnot right off the bat.

"I don't know why you always insist on wearing them, if you hate them so much. I'd have thought that causing a stir and turning up in jeans and a witty t-shirt would be more your style."

"And then I'd just be playing into everyone's expectations of me, wouldn't I? 'Oh look, there's that ugly bastard Brooker, can't even be arsed to dress himself properly, why didn't he just stay on his fucking sofa playing video games' blah fucking blah."

"I'm sure they don't _all_ expect that of you," David hazarded, his eyes firmly fixed on Charlie's efforts with his tie. "Not all the time, anyway."

"Oh no, only some of the time. Not like I give a shit, they can think whatever the hell they want as long as they're not actively stamping on my bollocks in an alleyway somewhere."

"What a curiously specific analogy. Has that happened to you before?"

"I'm not speaking from experience. But really, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were purposefully trying to pounce on me every time I'm caught in a suit," Charlie voice dropped, and he eyed David, who had been avidly watching his neck for the last two minutes. "Either that or you've turned into a vampire. You're not going to start sparkling in the sun, are you?"

David looked confused, and Charlie sniggered. "Never mind. How about my place, this time, eh? I got some of that, uh, free whiskey that you had last time." _Only not so free_, he thought. _Thirty quid a bottle, that stuff was. This better be worth it, Mitchell. _

"I'm surprised you remember, uh, last time. We got fairly rat-arsed. Actually, that wasn't bad whiskey either, considering it was free."

"It was only free because someone gave it to you, I don't think that counts as technically free."

"Nit-picker."

"You like it really." Charlie grinned. "Finally, free at last." He whipped the tie out from underneath his collar, and undid the top button of his shirt, aware of David's eyes on him. He purposefully took his time with the second button, giving an exaggerated sigh of relief when he'd got them both open. He wrapped the tie – plain, darkish brown, none of that twattish pretentious Italian silk crap - around his hand, although he wasn't quite sure why, other than to see the priceless look on David's face as he did. The whole thing was like an exercise in cockteasing, really, what with the pub ritual first, and then the leaving right after one drink and the crashing at each others' flats, and then the something that Charlie could never quite remember and then, well, the walk of shame he could definitely do without. That was the Plan.

It took the usual amount of taxi-driver swearing, honking and time to get to the pub, which David had pointed out had the third most common pub name in Britain, and as per usual, Charlie was pondering exactly how he could replicate the events of That Which Must Never Be Spoken Of, only this time with as little inebriation as possible. Which had failed the last time he tried, but in all fairness, the whiskey was to blame for that. Never let it be said that Charlton Brooker was not a cheap night out.

After all, he might have bought another bottle of the damned stuff, but it was a lure and nothing more. Just a shiny, amber coloured lure at the end of his fishing rod- okay, no, that metaphor wasn't going anywhere remotely good and then they were at the pub. Charlie elected to go to the bar and get the round in, and he made sure that the barman topped their whiskeys off with a nice helping of soda. He could always feign ignorance if David enquired.

David did not enquire. He just sipped his whiskey and tipped an eyebrow subtly in Charlie's direction. _Did he know? Fuck, he knew about the Plan. Maybe he was alright with the Plan._ Charlie looked at David over his whiskey, trying to decipher the silence that wasn't uncomfortable – just fraught with _something_. Charlie's hand slipped into his pocket, the comforting tangle of tie curled around his fingers and instilled some sort of mad confidence into him. Enough to put his drink down before it was even finished. He pushed the glass towards the middle of the table, brushing his fingers against David's hand where it was resting against his own glass.

"We should go," he said, throatily.

"Yeah, the whiskey might be getting lonely all on its own." David chuckled, an edge of nervousness in his voice that Charlie found more delightful than he should. He'd gone past nerves and was now embracing a sort of insanity usually reserved for those cocky twats who were confident enough to just walk up to someone they fancied and actually do something about it. Well, Charlie wasn't a cocky twat, but he sure was going to try and do something about the Thing between him and David.

He'd kept his coat on, which was vaguely blasphemous when you were sat indoors, but it allowed him to skitter upright all the faster as David shrugged into his own coat. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and focused on a precise mixture of shoulder-brushing and leaning slightly towards David as they waited outside. The taxi arrived in record time. _It was almost like the Taxi Lord was smiling down on the Plan_, Charlie thought, and if he accidentally placed his hand in the small of David's back while they were getting into the taxi, well, he was hardly to blame. The Taxi Lord approves and all that. David didn't flinch from his touch. Instead, he seemed almost reluctant to leave it as he got into the car.

Charlie followed him in and slammed the door shut. He gave his address to the driver, and spent the journey with his hand knotted into his tie, focusing on the feel of the material between his fingers instead of the fact that he could smell David and almost feel the warmth emanating from his knee, an inch away from his own. They did their usual Looking Out of the Window and Not Talking charade and then they were at Charlie's flat, and he was opening the door. _Fuck_, he thought. _He's gonna laugh at all the mess and then realise what he's doing and then leave and never come back. God, I hope I moved that manky cereal bowl. Make light of it, go on. Maybe he won't notice all those embarrassing books you've never read..._

He flicked on the light and kicked off his shoes. "Welcome to my palace," he said. "Do try not to trip over the butlers and the statues on your way into the Great Hall," he gesticulated towards the living room door grandly. "After you."

"Thank you kind sir," David said with a smirk. "This décor, it's..." he trailed off, his eyes flicking from the shelves full of books, DVDs and video games, to the games consoles huddled together under the TV as if for warmth, to the detritus that covered Charlie's low coffee table. "The way everything, you know," he waved his hand around. "Is it baroque?"

Charlie dissolved into laughter. "Now, you know full well that I don't _do_ art history."

"Oh yes, excuse me." David settled himself down on the sofa and smiled up at Charlie. "I forgot that you're an uncultured swine."

"Insufferable prig," Charlie retorted. "Would you like some whiskey with your glass or should I just throw it at your head?"

"Fetch the bottle," David said. "Who needs glasses?"

"Ooh, adventurous." Charlie reached up for the whiskey, which was carefully stowed away in his cabinet, next to a dusty collection of novelty liquors that he only got out at Christmas. "Are you going to keep your coat on all night or do I have to confiscate it?"

There was a pause, as if David was psyching himself up for something. "Ahah, and now he wants me to take off my clothes."

Charlie was glad that his face was turned towards the cabinet so that David wouldn't see the mortifying blush that was no doubt engulfing his face. _Pull yourself together, you twat! You're not a fucking schoolgirl_. He mastered his expression in a vague attempt to not look like a lecherous old tosspot about to date rape someone and then put the bottle down on the coffee table, nudging a dirty cup out of the way. "You're still wearing your coat," he noted.

"So are you. And anyway, I was waiting for one of your butlers to take it off me and offer to dust me down with a lint roller."

"You might be waiting a long time then. We lost all the lint rollers last month. But I suppose I could stand in as your butler," Charlie gesticulated for David to stand up, which he did. He swallowed, and then stepped close _oh so close_ and slipped his thumbs under the lapels of David's coat. He heard David's breath hitch in, and _felt_ it huff out as he ran his palms over his shoulders, taking the coat with them until it fell onto the sofa behind them. He couldn't believe that this was actually happening, but David wasn't running away like his arse was on fire, he wasn't recoiling from Charlie's hideous face, and _oh god_ he was moving closer, he was actually moving closer. There was hardly any recoiling at all and oh, _oh_ that was a kiss that was and that was David's tongue right there and his hand on Charlie's back, and then Charlie was pushing David forward and onto the sofa.

David tugged at Charlie's coat. "Still wearing this," he said, half of his words muffled by the fact that he couldn't seem to stop kissing Charlie. "Off. Take it off."

Charlie wordlessly complied, David's growled commands going straight to his groin. He flicked his eyes up to see David watching him, his eyes narrowed and intent on Charlie's every movement.

"Get your tie out."

"You really are a kinky fucker, aren't you?" Charlie, trying not to lose contact with David, reached inside his coat pocket and snaked his tie out, stuffing it into his trouser pocket for safe-keeping.

"Yes I am, and I know that you like it." David surged upright, planting his hands firmly against Charlie's chest. "Bedroom now."

Charlie kissed him, hard, and they staggered through the doorway. Charlie hit his hip on the doorframe, and David banged into the corner of the chest of drawers and then they tumbled onto Charlie's bed, rutting like they couldn't get enough of the contact and glorious friction. David's weight was warm, and Charlie could feel his hard-on against his thigh.

"Trousers," Charlie said, between kisses. "Why are we still wearing trousers?"

"Well if you're going to object about trousers, why are you still wearing that shirt? And, for that matter, where's that tie? We have an appointment to keep."

"An appointment?" Charlie mock-pouted, "that sounds more like an obligation than I'd like."

"Yes, it's an obligation for you to get your fucking trousers off right this instant. And your shirt," David sat upright, effectively pinning Charlie from the waist down as he unfastened each of the small buttons on Charlie's green-grey shirt. The way he kept looking up under his eyelashes made Charlie squirm with embarrassment, and the urge to hide his face under a pillow, or his hands, or a pile of bricks, grew almost too much to handle. He raised his hands, but David intercepted them with a little tut-tutting noise.

"No, you're not hiding, Charlie."

"But you might set on fire from my hideous sex face," Charlie protested. "I don't want you to set on fire, it'd be messy. Or you might turn to stone or something, or get zapped back into time to live yourself to death like in Doctor Who." _Or just leave_, his inner voice said, nastily. _He'd probably just leave and never come back._

"Charlie, contrary to your own beliefs, you are not a gorgon," David said firmly. "And I know that my memories of, you know, the last few times, aren't exactly hole-free, but I'm quite sure I saw your sex face at least once. More, I suspect, on the second occasion, considering the trouble I had walking. I am not," he paused for emphasis and planted a soft kiss on Charlie's lips, "going anywhere. Now, do you want me to tie you up like a really naughty fucker or don't you?" His voice dropped, low and husky, and Charlie just nodded, resisting the urge to buck his hips upward. He fumbled to unfasten David's trousers and pulled them clumsily down, and David kicked them off. He raised an expectant eyebrow, and Charlie held out his hands obediently.

David looped the tie around three times, slipped the rest between Charlie's wrists and then tied both ends in a knot behind one of the headboard poles. "Handy, those," he said, turning his attention to removing Charlie's trousers teasingly slowly, nipping at the skin on his thighs and leaving behind little tremors of feeling wherever his lips touched.

He moaned at David's deliberate slowness as he took off Charlie's boxers. His cock twitched as David's warm breath touched it, and then he was overwhelmed with the sensation of _wetness_ and _heat_ as David took Charlie's cock into his mouth, proving that he was as skilled with his tongue in this area as he was when they were arguing.

"Fuck, David," Charlie gasped, as David performed a move that would put porn stars to shame. He tugged at the tie restraining his hands, but it wouldn't give, and he made a pathetic little noise of need in his throat. _Embarrassing_, the cognisant part of his brain commented, but it was roughly shoved out of the way by the part of his brain that really did not give a flying fuck cos _god_, David was good at that. David's eyes flickered up to watch Charlie, who strained at the tie some more, desperate to wrap his fingers into that dark hair but the knots were just too good, and he would curse himself for teaching David but he just couldn't regret _this_.

David stopped, maddeningly, and he crawled up Charlie's torso to kiss him. He tasted of salt and whiskey, and Charlie bucked against him, desperate for the contact. "You're so impatient," David growled. "I'm not going to rush." He leant over to the chest of drawers, where Charlie had left a bottle of lube and a box of condoms. "You're going to fuck me," he said, tearing open a condom with endearing concentration, "so hard," he rolled it onto Charlie's cock, watching him the whole time with those dark, dark eyes, "that I might do something embarrassing, like scream. Would you like that, Charlie?" He pumped a puddle of lube into the palm of his hand, heating it up with his other before applying it liberally to Charlie's cock.

"Fuck," Charlie said. _Way to be repetitive there_, his brain commented. _Fuck off_, he told his brain. "David," he gasped, "if you don't let me fuck you right now, I might just come right now..." he trailed off, the sight of David preparing himself with a lube-slicked finger proving too much of a delicious distraction. "And that could," he inhaled sharply, "ruin the evening somewhat," and then all semblance of speech was driven from his mind by the fact that he was _inside_ David and it was tight and hot and he didn't think it could feel much better and then David moved and yeah, that was better, that was pretty fucking mindblowing, in fact and then he was thrusting and David was moaning and the fact that he was tied up somehow heightened every sensation.

Charlie tried to slow his thrusts down, to go shallower and make it last, but the way David shivered and growled when he brushed right _there_ like that made it pretty hard to stop. His hands were planted firmly on Charlie's chest as he pushed himself down and harder and Charlie longed to grab those hips and wrap his arms around David and touch his cock, which was brushing deliciously against his stomach, and it was driving him towards the edge _oh_ so quickly.

Their ragged breathing filled his ears and Charlie's thrusts became erratic. Charlie watched breathlessly as David's head dropped backwards, giving him a good look at his gorgeous throat and then he pushed himself down, hard, and gasped Charlie's name as he came hot and sticky on his stomach. It took two more of those deep thrusts and Charlie was following David as the heat of orgasm rushed through him. He arched his back, enjoying the aftershock and the feeling of his tie near-chafing at his wrists.

"Fuck," David said, faintly. He sort of toppled sideways off Charlie, who winced at the sudden removal of his cock. David pinched off the condom and dropped it over the side of the bed, and then moulded himself to the side of Charlie's body with a contented sigh.

"You're just going to leave me tied up, aren't you," Charlie commented, looking down at David's tousled head. "They'll find me here in a week, all emaciated like a supermodel with my cock all shrivelled off cos you'll have fucked everything out of me and then left."

"Yup, I am a serial sex murderer," David said, his voice obscured by the fact that his face was almost buried in Charlie's armpit.

"You horrible bastard," Charlie laughed. "But really," he tugged at the tie. His arms were starting to ache something rotten. "Please?" he said, annoyed at himself for sounding pathetic, even though that was probably only obvious to his own, extremely well-tuned ears.

David made a noise of assent and hauled himself upright to work at the knot tethering Charlie so effectively to his bed. "You shouldn't have taught me to tie this so well," he grinned, his hair falling into his eyes in that way that made Charlie want to fuck him all over again.

"Pff, like you'd have let me get away with giving you a half-arsed lesson," Charlie said, rubbing the pins and needles from his hands.

"Touché." David snuggled back into Charlie's side, only this time Charlie could get his arm up and around. Something deep down in his mind was screaming at him that snuggling was for girls and nancies, but he told it quite firmly to shut the fuck up and put his attention to smelling David's hair like a nancy. He wanted to ask what exactly this was, this Thing between them with the sex and the alcohol lures and the awkwardness of the last two times, but he had a nagging feeling that it would ruin everything if he verbalised what he was feeling. Plus he was never very good at actually spelling those feelings out in a way that didn't involve surreal similes and frantic gesticulating and then some really fast talking as he undoubtedly articulated something in the entirely wrong way leading to misunderstandings and the probable leaving of the other person involved. He didn't want David to leave, he realised, suddenly. Lying there with him, sated and dishevelled and _so_ close was the nearest thing to bliss that he could think of. All the more reason to never mention the depth of those feelings. _No scaring him off, Brooker_, he told himself.

"Charlie?" David sounded like he was about to nod off, and Charlie smiled to himself.

"Mm?"

"You know how earlier I said that I wasn't going anywhere?"

_Oh fuck_. "Yeah?"

"Well, it'd make my not-leaving a lot easier if, erm," David paused and pushed his face further into the dimple between Charlie's shoulder and his chest. "Well. I suppose I'm trying to say that I like you. I. Er. I really like you, okay?"

"Okay," Charlie said, tentatively.

"Oh fuck Charlie, I'm shit at this. I'm trying to say, I suppose, that I want to... uh, do this on a regular basis. Not like fuck buddies or anything," he said, hastily. "Nothing like that."

"Like... going out?" Charlie asked, not quite daring to say the words.

"Yeah," David mumbled. "If, you know. If you want to."

_Oh fuck_. "Jesus David, yes I want to." Relief broke over Charlie and he grinned, unable to help himself. "I really, really... Yeah. I want to. Fuck."

David tightened his arm around Charlie, who dropped his head down so that his chin was resting on David's hair. "That whiskey lure was definitely a good idea," Charlie murmured, inhaling the smell of David's shampoo.

"You sly bastard." David lifted his head in a mock-glare, resting his chin on Charlie's chest.

"Like you'd have it any other way."

"That is totally not the point. There's some left, isn't there?"

"David, we didn't drink a sodding drop. You couldn't wait to get me tied to the bed, if I recall correctly."

"You were the one manhandling my coat," David said, poking Charlie in the chest. "So that means you've got to go and get the whiskey. Chop chop, I'm parched."

"Alcoholic," Charlie grinned as he extracted himself from David. _That whiskey was so worth it,_ he thought. _So fucking worth it._


End file.
